


Cornflower, Sapphire, Prussian

by gala_apples



Category: Glee
Genre: Forced Outing, Gen, M/M, Magic, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-01
Updated: 2013-05-01
Packaged: 2017-12-10 01:53:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,443
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/780417
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gala_apples/pseuds/gala_apples
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kurt's at Dalton when he gets bombarded by texts telling him to come to McKinley, there's something he has to see.</p><p>Written for Queer Fest, for the prompt: <i>In the vein of Bruce Coville's 'Am I Blue?' the entire queer population of any fandom is magically outed.</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	Cornflower, Sapphire, Prussian

**Author's Note:**

> There are lot of continuity mistakes regarding whether Dalton is a boarding school or not (the Glee Wiki has a list). This fic acknowledges the actual distance between Lima and Westerville, and takes it as fact that Kurt is boarding.

Kurt’s knocking on Blaine’s bedroom door when his pocketed phone bleeps with a text. He ignores it in favour of continuing a double fisted rap. They’re not at the point yet where Kurt can just walk in without permission, but after weeks of hanging out all evening they _are_ at the point where he can be completely obnoxious in letting his presence be known.

“Go to breakfast,” Blaine calls out loud enough that it goes through the door. “My hair is being even worse than it usually is. I know you like hot toast.”

One day Kurt will see Blaine’s hair in his natural state. He doesn’t know when, or how, but he will. It’s officially number 143 on his bucket list. He opens his mouth to joke that he could come in and wait for Blaine on the bed when his phone bleeps several more times. Enough times that it piques his curiosity.

The first is just from Thad, asking if Kurt wants him to save him a few packets of blueberry spread because the cafeteria is running low. It’s his old friends, his New Directions friends, that have spammed him. Sam’s text says **come be a na’vi with us, lol.** Mercedes’ says **you need to get here now**. Tina’s says **you need to come home asap**. Rachel’s says **If magic exists now, do you think it will affect ticket sales of Wicked?**. Puck’s says **do not cm hme, w/e M says. Theyll f u up.**

Kurt looks at the messages, then sends the same to Rachel and Finn. **What’s going on?**

 **Oh, it simply must be seen to be believed.** Kurt scowls when the text’s not followed up by a picture. What does Rachel expect him to do, turn on the cameras he has hidden all over Lima?

Finn’s text is distinctly less happy, although equally uninformative. **trying not to freak out. sorry**

Kurt looks at his phone for a minute before making up his mind. If it was anyone else he would assume it was a prank, born of the New Directions missing him. But Rachel wouldn’t. It’s not that she doesn’t miss him. She’s just not subtle enough to pull off the beginning stages of a prank.

“Blaine,” he calls through the door, “my friends need me. I have to go.”

Blaine opens the door wearing uniform pants and shirt without the jacket or tie, and a hastily grabbed shower cap over whatever wretchedness his hair looks like right now. “I’m not saying don’t go to them. I came to you when you needed strength for Karofsky. I’m just reminding you that you’ll miss the entire morning, at least, and you’ve been struggling with some of your courses already.”

Every word Blaine’s said is true. There’s no way that he’ll be attending any classes today between driving home, driving back, and the duration of whatever the drama is. And he is having difficulty with courses. Kurt’s not stupid, but he’s had ten years of education in a system that has to modify coursework for teenagers who think there’s no difference between the book Great Expectations and the South Park animated episode ‘based on’ Great Expectations. Soaring above McKinley standards is a C average here.

Still, it doesn’t matter. “At least half of my friends have contacted me in the last ten minutes. I have to-”

He cuts off as Blaine reaches out and momentarily grabs his hand. “I’ll get the Warblers in your grade to photocopy their notes for you.”

“Thank you.” Blaine’s sort of incredibly perfect, and Kurt’s life will be complete if the sophomore ever decides to like him back.

It’s a two hour drive from Westerville to Lima. Kurt’s mentally apologising to his dad the whole way home for skipping, but he needs to know what’s going on. His first clue is when he gets pulled over by a local cop idling at the Entering Lima sign.

“The town’s been quarantined.”

The words claw at Kurt’s brain. He can’t go in if it’s a danger zone. But how can he not, with Finn and Mercedes and Dad all on the other side of that invisible boundary? When he moved to Dalton it was with the knowledge that he’d be home on the weekends. This would be desertion, pure and simple.

He doesn’t have time for his heart to argue his brain. If this is a real quarantine, any minute now the CDC will show up, and it’ll be all hazmat suits and flamethrowers. It’ll be infinitely more security than the cop that comes into Roosevelt Junior High to remind preteens about crosswalk safety, and how jaywalking is a crime.

“Yeah, I know. I’m from Lima.” Kurt pulls out his license and Officer Bob looks at it for a moment.

“Okay. Well, get in, I guess.”

As he closes in on the heart of the town Kurt sends a mass text to everyone in Glee. **You still at school?**

He gets bombarded, all his friends saying yes. Except Puck, who says instead **dude i told u not 2 com**. 

The phone call he gets a second later is also from Puck. “If you have to do this, park a few blocks away and run in. And I mean run. Everyone thinks you did this.”

“I don’t even go to McKinley anymore. How can I be responsible for anything?”

Puck hangs up without answering him. It sounds ridiculous, but Kurt decides to give the guy the benefit of the doubt and parks a block away. Worst case scenario, Puck’s insane and Kurt has to walk an extra three minutes.

There are a few students in the hallway when he walks past the front door. One’s got a blue raspberry stain all over her face, and if Kurt was a better person he’d steer her to the bathroom and help her clean up. But doesn’t. He doesn’t care about anyone in this stupid school, besides Glee. Well, maybe the students in band, although they don’t talk much. Everyone else can become janitors and alcoholic housewives for all he cares. Kurt checks his phone again. A few of the more lengthy yes texts confirm what he already figured; everyone’s in the choir room. Whatever’s happening, they’re all concerned enough to skip too.

Nine and a half times out of ten the choir room’s two doors are left open. Kurt should know. It was an open door that led to the beginning of the end; his father assaulting Karofsky. This time both are closed. Kurt opens the nearer one, walks in and firmly closes it behind him before taking a look around.

“You all got slushied? What was it, a two for one sale?” This better not be what he’s wasted a tank of gas on. It sucks, yes, but it’s nothing new or interesting.

“It’s not slushie.” Mercedes says. She one of the only non-blue people.

“Ooookay. What is it, then?”

Puck stands up from where he’s straddling a chair and walks over to him. “How’s this for a clue?”

Puck’s leaning in and kissing him, and from around the edges of the terrifying flashback peeks anger. Kurt does what he should have done the first time. He knees Puck in the balls, then lowers his foot to grind his heel into Puck’s shoe. Puck staggers back, clutching himself.

“Why does everyone think they can just _do_ that?” Kurt screams. He thought Puck was better than that. He thought he didn’t have to be scared in Glee.

“What do you mean?” Mike asks. Everyone’s staring, the same question in their eyes.

“Why do you think I left?”

“Karofsky was getting out of hand, and Figgins un-expelled him.”

Kurt crosses his arms, Dalton jacket oddly like armour on him. “There’s more than one way to get out of hand.”

“He was sexually harassing you? I’m going to kill him.”

“I don’t know, were you sexually harassing me?” Kurt replies pointedly.

Sorrow flickers through the rage on Puck’s face. “I’m so sorry. I never would have, if I’d known.”

“How about you just never no matter what, and I’ll consider it forgiven.” After all, an apology and a promise to stop harassing people is more than Kurt will ever get from Karofsky.

Kurt’s not dumb enough to consider the issue rested. Judging by the looks on the faces of his friends, half will want to discuss his feelings, and the other half are plotting horrible deaths. On the other hand, they could all be dead in twenty four hours, him an hour or two after them due to later exposure. It would be a neat way to avoid any particularly awful talks.

“So you’re not slushied, and Puck thought sexual assault was a hint. Did you have an orgy when I was gone and this is some weird STD?” It would explain Rachel and Mercedes not looking different, although he would have thought Tina’d get in on that.

“You could say that,” Quinn says bitterly.

Rachel turns to her. “Actually,” she starts earnestly, “lesbians have the lowest ratio of STDs, statistically speaking.”

“Could someone please explain?”

“We figured it out because Santana’s the same shade of blue as Sandy Ryerson, and Brittany’s lighter.” 

“We figured you’d be navy blue too, but I guess it only happened to people in Lima.”

“What. Happened.” He’s not stupid, he knows what San and Brit and Sandy Ryerson have in common. It just doesn’t make sense.

“It’s magic, Kurt. Someone turned the Bruce Coville book into fact.”

Kurt knows the story Rachel means. Of course he does. He knows all the gay YA; Dancing On My Grave, My Heartbeat, the Sevens series, anything by Alex Sanchez. Kurt looks around the room. Suddenly all the blue makes even less sense. Well, not Sam’s skin being a shade of ocean blue that Brittany shares which seems to mean bisexual. Kurt called that the minute he saw him. But Puck? Quinn? _Artie_?

“Are you sure?”

Mercedes smiles, understanding his confusion. When he was a McKinley student they played the ‘top ten students you wished were gay’ game all the time. “While we were waiting for you we had a little confessional.”

“And Puck said he was gay.” There is no freakin’ way Noah Puckerman said those words. Not a chance.

Puck shrugs. “Everyone knows about the MILFs. But there was the occasional DILF. Not enough to make me full gay though, obviously. Not exactly blueberry.”

Kurt has to admit that’s true. He’s not. He’s daytime summer sky blue, same as Quinn. Who speaks up next.

“Guys are gross and horrible, for the most part. I don’t see why that makes me a lesbian. I haven’t even kissed a girl.”

Tina throws her arms into the air. “And I’ve kissed a good half dozen, and I’m still as Asian as the day I was born!”

“Me too,” Mike adds. “Well, not girls. Asian camp gets kinda smutty when people smuggle in alcohol. But I guess since we did it for fun, not attraction, it doesn’t count.”

And then there’s Finn and Artie, both the shade of blue that only shows up in icy snow drifts. It’s pretty clear they’re not handling it well. Kurt feels sorry for Finn for about ten seconds before the second half of sophomore year hits him.

“Faggy lamp, huh?”

Everyone else looks at him, confused. Finn just flinches. “I said I was sorry. And I didn’t even realise I thought stuff until everyone figured out what the blue meant.”

“You should go back to Westerville, man,” Puck says, another variation on his theme for today. “At least get out of McKinley. Santana already got shit for her lesbian contagion, and people think girl on girl is hot.”

“People think boy on boy is hot too,” Tina mutters.

“They’re just going to get pissed at you,” Puck insists.

“I don’t think I can leave. Officer Bob told me Lima’s under quarantine.”

“What, when you were crossing with the light, not against it?”

“Quarantine? But that’s stupid. It’s not contagious.” Mercedes crosses her arms defensively under the spotlight of several looks. “What? Just because I didn’t know what Prop 8 was doesn’t mean I’m that ignorant.”

“I don’t know what to tell you. I can’t leave, it’s as simple that.”

He’s not sure which one of the Glee members shouts New Directions party, but Mercedes and Tina and Rachel and Mike are all darting forward for a group hug, and by the time they pull apart someone’s turned the front row of chairs backwards to face the second and third rows. Kurt can’t bring himself to sit with the back to the door, his undiagnosed but certainly there PTSD won’t allow for it, but the rest of them take their seats like it’s no big deal.

“I’ll see if I can get Lauren to bring us a party platter after this period. Chips, chocolate, all the goodies.”

“Just order double what you actually want, because you know she’ll eat half of it.”

Puck turns and point a finger at Santana’s snide face. “You shut up about my girlfriend.”

“She doesn’t want to date you, and she won’t put out even if you do. I don’t see what you see in her!”

Yeah, Kurt’s missed this. The Warblers are safe, but there’s not even a third of the fascinating drama that New Directions has. Mercedes has told him about Puck crushing on Zizes, but it’s different only hearing gossip, not seeing it unfold.

Still, it’s not exactly comfortable. This chatting would all be much better in the tastefully decorated basement of the Hummel-Hudson house. Kurt decorated it with this in mind, the sectional could seat at least two thirds of them.

“Why are we staying here? I mean, I’m assuming you haven’t gone to a class this morning.” Kurt can’t blame them. The student population of McKinley is toxic in normal situations, and this isn’t normal.

Puck shrugs. “Same reason I previously hesitated to beat the shit out of that ass clown. Probation. Skipping classes would look bad. Schue gave us one look and said we could hang out and say it was a Glee thing and wouldn’t count for absences.”

“Which means Sylvester will give us shit for it later, but it’s better than the alternative.”

“Because not all of us have parents that work, or work nine to fives, and no one wants to know if their dad once considered having butt sex.” Sam looks at Rachel. “No offence.”

“I’m missing my classes for perhaps the first time in my life to support the GLBT members. With you gone, I’m the best ally available.”

Rachel’s got a point. Artie is clearly having a mental breakdown over his slight tinge of blue, and Finn and Quinn aren’t doing much better. Kurt’s ashamed to say she knows more than he does about the mechanics of a gay relationship. Puck apparently knows more about the mechanics of gay sex. But if there’s anything he can do that they can’t, he’s willing to help. 

Lauren does come shortly after the bell rings and she’s got enough Mars bars that Kurt has to wonder if she held up a delivery truck at gunpoint somewhere. She mutters ‘you owe me’ at no one in particular as she starts passing them out like it’s Halloween. Kurt’s just glad it’s not his problem. 

Just after the warning bell rings what seems like the entire football team comes into the choir room, only a few missing. Kurt rolls his eyes. No doubt they stayed at home.

“Almost all of you,’ Azimio chuckles. “I knew this was Homo Explosion. Just lures in all the queers.”

“Maybe you better go find your buddy Dave,” Kurt snaps. After all, it’s not him outing him, it’s the magic.

“What?”

“Yeah. He might be green though, if shades of yellow are how much you’ve sexually harassed people.” Not that it would matter. The vast majority of them are handsy to an ugly degree.

Rachel, championing her cause to the best of her ability, chimes in next. “Maybe you should look at which of your boys aren’t here. And then remember that you’ve been hanging out with them for years and they haven’t hit on you, or molested you, or turned you, or whatever else makes you afraid.”

“Yeah,” Puck says. “And maybe you should back the fuck off before I break your spines.”

Pinkerton shakes his head, confident. “You’ll go back to juvie, Puckerman.”

“Nope. I’ll get Finn to punch me in the face a few times, break a rib. I’ll say it was self defense from a hate crime. You think anyone in this room will say anything different? Queers stick together.” Puck grins in a way that’s really just baring his teeth through a gash of lips. It’s menacing as all get out. 

Lauren, evidently not one to allow anyone to be scarier than her, growls “I will end you.”

Between the two of them and the thought of being compared to the KKK, Azimio backs off. The rest follow. Kurt waits until the door is closed to start laughing. One win is not enough to have him considering re-enrolling at McKinley, not against two and a half years of losses, but it’s definitely good for the heart. So is Sam’s hand briefly on his back, and knowing that if Lauren and Puck’s words hadn’t been enough, Sam would have gotten another black eye for him.

“I may be bi, but I want you so bad right now. Shit you’re hot.” Puck says. Lauren doesn’t react at all, acting like the compliment is her due.

“Wow. He could have literally anyone, and he still wants you. I hate you even more now,” Santana says acidically.

“I will use you as a mop, Latina Barbie.”

Their bickering goes on a little longer, but before it can come to actual blows, a meltdown pops up. “I only want girls. This is a lie.”

“Dude, we don’t care. You really think anyone in this room cares?”

“It’s a lie,” Artie insists. “It’s a lie, and I don’t how this happened and I don’t care because it’s not true. I’m straight. Perfectly and entirely. And anyone that-” 

It’s Mike, of all people, that distracts Artie from his tantrum, with singing, of all things. Well, not true singing. He’s speaking a techno song, a genre not exactly known for great un-autotuned voices. “I have a blue house with a blue window. Blue is the colour of all that I wear. Blue are the streets and all the trees are too. I have a girlfriend and she is so blue.”

“Wait, is that-”

“I'm blue da ba dee da ba die-”

They crack up. Thirteen voices laugh as one. It feels so good. Kurt knows it’s not safe to come back. It’s not safe for him, and it would be a giant waste of his tuition, and what’s he supposed to do with the pictures and other accessories he bought for his room at Dalton because they certainly don’t match his bedroom at home, and a hundred other reasons. But the Warblers don’t laugh like this. He’s been one of them for months now, worn their uniform and blended into their acapella and talked about indie movies and the books he likes, and they’ve never once laughed hysterically because shit is so weird and bad and fucked up that it’s just _hilarious_.

“Oh man, this is totally gonna be a theme of Schue’s, isn’t it?” Sam gasps out.

“Does Journey have a song about blueness?”

It’s enough to make everyone laugh again. Kurt’s concealer is smudged with tears by the time he’s finished.

“Oh, I’ve got one. Marcy Playground. ‘Blue, like water, blue, like heaven is, all of the time. And I’m alright...I’m just gagging on all the all right’.”

“How about ‘I write my blue songs with my blue pen, I sing the blue notes to my blue friends. Now I don't know that much about you, but I like you because you're true blue.’? Fits, right?”

“Who’s that?”

“Bright Eyes.”

“You little indie poseur bastard.”

Kurt pulls his phone from his pocket and texts Blaine **Lima’s quarantined. I don’t know when I’ll make it back, but don’t worry. I don’t think it’s too serious.** What he doesn’t text is that even if Officer Bob burst into the room saying everything was peachy keen Kurt wouldn’t leave. He has to eventually. But not yet. He needs Dalton to save him from McKinley, but he’s just now realised he needs New Directions to save him from Dalton. All thanks to Bruce Coville.


End file.
